We Could Have Been Friends
by LavernaG
Summary: This is my idea of Joan Crawford and Bette Davis watching the show "Feud: Bette and Joan" in Heaven—or wherever they ended up—in 2017. One-Shot.


_**I just happened to read an article about "Feud" and it inspired me to write this little story of the "two old broads" binge-watching the series together. I'm not in my writing-mood today, so please forgive me the simplicity of this one-shot. I just had to write it down even as I knew I was no good at writing today.** _

_**I hope you will enjoy this little story, and please leave me a review if you do. :)**_

* * *

They both entered the room at the same time; the closing of the two doors sounded as one. It was dark in the movie theatre, but Joan could recognize her anywhere. It wasn't as if either of them had changed over the years. Bette always brought the smell of cigarette smoke with her, and had there been any light, she'd have looked exactly the same as when they'd last met.

It had been so long ago. They could have met a thousand times, had they wanted to. But they'd never gotten along, and they'd sure as hell never craved for each other's company. Even now Joan had hoped she'd be alone if she came. But she supposed Bette deserved to see this as well. After all, she'd gotten top billing, hadn't she?

Joan could feel Bette's penetrating gaze on her even as the darkness seemed to grow deeper and wider between them. The brooding silence lengthened, and soon Joan found herself wondering how long they'd stayed there. Time felt so different around here. It didn't feel nearly like forty years to her, although she was forced to admit that was how long she'd been here.

It took all her willpower to finally turn and head down the steps to the first row of the small theatre room. She could hear the other woman following suit, although she was too nervous to turn around and see the shadow that was Bette Davis moving in her direction. The quiet sound of her footsteps neared, and Joan experienced a sudden will to flee from the room. Why, she didn't know. It wasn't as if she was frightened of the other actress.

She'd sat in this room many times over the years and she had always used this seat in the front row. But she had always been here alone. All these years she'd been alone. And now the feeling of another human being in the room was foreign to her.

She thought there'd been one time when they'd been here together. It must have been about thirty years ago now. It had taken Joan years to gather the courage to come in here and see the movie they'd made about her—" _Mommie Dearest_ ". She had known it would hurt her but she had realized soon enough that she couldn't find any peace until she saw it. To think she had actually said she'd like Faye Dunaway to play her in a motion picture!

It was then, at the end of the horrible movie, when Joan had looked over her shoulder to see a figure standing at the back end of the room. The stranger hadn't said a word at the sight of Joan's despairing, tearful face and at the shuddering sounds of pain that had left Joan's unguarded lips. The stranger hadn't shown any reaction whatsoever. But Joan had known who she was anyway.

And that had been the last time she'd seen Bette Davis.

The latter sank into the chair right next to Joan's, and Joan felt herself stiffen. She didn't know exactly how she was feeling. She wasn't angry at the woman for ignoring her for so long, because she hadn't really wanted to see her either. And yet she'd sometimes wondered how she was doing and why they hadn't met up again. A mixture of strange, unreasoning feelings suddenly caught her, and Joan attempted to escape them by reaching down to her bag and retrieving her knitting.

But just as she did so, the screen came alive with a familiar strong light, and Joan felt again, after such a long time, as if she was going to a premiere of one of her own movies. The music started and so did the picture. The intro was an animated clip put together of some of the scenes in " _Baby Jane_ ", her and Bette's Oscar fight and Bob's manipulation.

And then the magic of " _Feud: Bette and Joan_ " started.

* * *

Eight episodes and a whole lot of tears—at least on Joan's part—later the show was over. And as the end credits disappeared from the still-lit screen, silence ensued. It was a lengthy silence, full of unspoken feelings and thoughts, like a still before a storm, which in this case could very well have been an outburst of feelings if the unbroken silence had lasted any longer.

Joan had leaned out of her chair and towards the screen as the story had progressed. Blinking rapidly at the silly tears that simply refused to stop streaming down her cheeks, Joan took a deep breath to prepare herself for the ordeal that was facing Bette Davis. Bette was unpredictable. Joan didn't know what she would do if Bette laughed at her for being so emotional. But at the moment she really didn't care if she made a fool of herself.

So, decisively, she turned and looked at the woman by her side, receiving a slight surprise at the realization that Bette had been watching her herself. But what shocked her more—and perhaps even more than anything had ever shocked her—was the look in Bette's tearful eyes. It was a look of unrestrained regret, of bold apology and of steadfast and genuine love.

Astounded beyond description, Joan stared back at those emotional eyes, hoping with all her might that her less talented self was able to reflect Bette's emotions, because she was feeling exactly the same way. In sudden and fearful doubt, Joan reached out her hand to Bette, searching for urgent conviction of the reality of the scene.

Bette responded instantly, as if she'd been expecting Joan to make the move, and grabbed Joan's hand in her own. One could have thought she was afraid Joan would reconsider and pull away. But Joan had nothing of the sort in mind.

The two undying stars, Hollywood legends forever bound to one another, sitting in the dim movie theatre, held on to each other's hand tightly, convincing themselves forevermore of their predestined friendship. Having more things in common than any other person in the world, they had always been meant to be friends.

In the now comfortable silence that had settled between the "two old broads", it seemed like ages before the breathless words escaped Bette's lips.

"All this time..."

"...we could have been friends."

 _The End_


End file.
